The air is wet reminiscent of the days she spent in England. She remembers the world being covered in fog and the black dirt looked as if it was from another planet. The days were long and lonely in a place so unfamiliar and so distant from anything she had experienced before. The bungalow was sweet but life was bitter. A way of escape was a daily prayer.

The seer didn't tell of this time and space. Although he alluded to it in a coy sort of way as to give her time to agree to the circumstances before hand. Predestination she has always thought to be hard to comprehend. Acceptance takes time and an inner yielding will.

The sky is no different than the one she viewed from the bungalow's window. There is also a sudden urge to drive on the wrong side of the road. Somehow today it seems right.